


Christmas Spirits

by cazflibs



Series: Pished [2]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Christmas fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: Following the events of 'Dutch Courage', Lister and Rimmer each decide that Christmas Day is the time to confess their feelings for one another.Just...perhaps after a drink. Or five.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A fic-gift dedicated to all of my readers. Thanks so much for your support this year, its hugely appreciated. Wishing you a very Merry Christmas! xxx

Today, Lister surmised with a firm nod, would be a very good day.

Not only was it Christmas Day -- he checked for the third time that the dual bottles of champagne in the ice bucket were in place -- but today would _finally_ be the day that he told Rimmer that he -- Lister fiddled unnecessarily with the plate of mince pies. Um...

...well. He'd figure out what to say when the time came. Hopefully.

And so unfolded yet another Christmas spent drifting through deep space. Lister had forgotten when he'd given up hoping that their next Christmas would be spent back on Earth. It was an acclimatisation that had evolved naturally over time; the red rustbucket slowly becoming ‘home’ in his heart.

But like three wise men back on Earth had once famously prophesied, the stars were in alignment. And, thanks to his 2pm start on the red wine, Rimmer was already slightly merry. Conditions were perfect.

Lister stood back to admire his masterpiece. The reconstruction of the table’s array from _That Night_ had to be as accurate as possible if it were to jump-start the hologram’s memory of that drunken kiss; to speak for him when he knew damn well words would fail.

After all, the topic was a tricky one to broach, even for his own naturally chirpy chattiness. It didn't seem quite right to launch right in with “Hey, you remember on my birthday when you got a bit too pissed and kissed me? Well actually, I'd kinda like a repeat of that.” 

No way. Even when it came down to gently steering their oddball relationship into more intimate territory, he would have to utilise the most trusted tactic in his verbal weaponry - the subtle art of baiting.

The Scouser smiled to himself behind the nervous nibbling on his thumbnail. When the hologram had outright ignored him the morning after it had happened, he'd initially reached a mournful conclusion that Rimmer had drawn down the shutters on the whole thing; his silence on the matter steadfastly denying that anything had happened between them. 

But as the days sprouted awkwardly into weeks and then months, Lister had slowly grown to suspect that the hologram had drunk so much that evening that he couldn't actually remember a single smegging thing about his sloshed shenanigans. Perhaps the proverbial ship hadn't quite sailed after all.

Lister glanced up the clock. Given Rimmer’s scheduled 5pm check on the Drive Room data feedback (none of them wanted a repeat of that Christmas with the Pan-Dimensional Liquid Beast), it would only be a few minutes until the hologram would be here. He steadied himself with a swift exhale. 

_You can do this!_ Confidence reminded him loudly with a brash grin. _You can totally do this!_

Trembly fingers fiddled in agitation at the worn leather of his jacket sleeve. 

Oh, sod it.

Plucking out a beer from the bucket (his fifth since lunch), he hurriedly cracked it open before slugging back as much as he was physically able, trying to ignore Paranoia’s snide snickering. 

Of course he could do this. Just maybe not this sober.

 

_I can do this,_ Rimmer thought to himself as he stood at the door to the Sleeping Quarters, wine glass clutched in sweaty hands and left leg jiggling anxiously. _I can totally do this._

_What, even after that disaster on Listy’s birthday?_ sneered his Inner Critic. 

‘Disaster’ didn't even cover it. He'd been building himself up for months to confess to Lister how he truly felt about him. But in his panic, he’d indulged in a little too much ‘Dutch Courage’ before the man had even arrived. The next thing he remembered was waking up on the sofa the following morning with a stonker of a headache and a semi over a rather pleasant dream he'd had of the pair of them indulging in some sort of sponsored snog-a-thon.

_Thank goodness you drank yourself into that pathetic stupor before you could even talk to him,_ the cruel voice sneered. _We'd have been humiliated!_

“Oh, smeg off!” Rimmer muttered out loud with a dismissive snarl. He'd heard quite enough from that smegger when he'd come face to face with him a couple of months ago. It was now time to put that behind him, grow a pair, and actually _tell_ Lister the truth about how he really felt. 

He was ready.

After an anxious pause, Rimmer quickly drained his glass in one go - quite a feat seeing as it had been over three-quarters full of Shiraz - before wiping clumsily at the inevitable red stain on his lips.

Right. _Now_ he was ready.

 

As the door swished open to reveal the hologram, Lister sounded his surprise through his mouthful before hurriedly swallowing, quickly drawing the can away from his lips. “Hey! You're here!” he spluttered, his voice snagging somewhere in the realm between over-eagerness and panic.

“Yes! Indeed I am!” Rimmer echoed the same strained voice as he entered. With his awkward grin fixed on the Scouser, he fumbled to place his empty wine glass on the central table. “Here, I mean.”

“Yup.”

“Mm-hm.”

Their over-eager words suddenly stumbled into a roadblock of silence and with a shared chuckle of embarrassment, they each glanced away once more. Lister plucked a flat-twang tune at the ring pull of his can. Rimmer patted his hands against his legs self-consciously.

“Soooo, um - ” Lister scratched at the nape of his neck with a turmeric-stained finger. “Anything to tell me?”

Feigned smile still cemented in place, the edges of Rimmer’s face sagged in panic. “Sorry?”

“The Drive Room?” Lister prompted with a confused frown. At the man’s slack-jawed expression, he wondered quite how many drinks the hologram had already had. “You were gonna check if there's anything on the scanner scope?”

Rimmer blinked in realisation. “Ah, yes!” He shook his head quickly in immense relief. “I mean, no. There's nothing about, no.” A nervous giggle - most likely borne from a tad too much vino - spluttered and died on his lips when he realised that was hardly professional, and he straightened his face with a clear of the throat. “Everything's tickety-boo.”

_Definitely merry, then,_ Lister noted with relief. “Great!” He too cleared his throat, wondering what the smeg to say next. Finding nothing, he settled on: “Well that's good, eh?”

“Indeed, yes. Good. Absolutely.”

The pair nodded dumbly like a pair of bobblehead dogs on the dashboard of a car.

“So.” Rimmer rolled the word around his mouth thoughtfully. “It's Christmas Day then.”

Unsure quite how to reply, Lister settled on a polite shrug. “Has been all day so far, yep.”

“Good. Good.”

With the conversation clearly suffering cardiac arrest, the pair nodded silently once more, each desperately willing the other to resurrect it.

Behind the façade of a smile, Lister’s thoughts were screaming. They'd known each other for over thirty years for smeg’s sake! They were capable of firing insults at one another at a mile a minute. Why was talking suddenly so smegging difficult?!

Scrabbling for a topic, Rimmer finally clutched onto a conversational handhold and clung onto it for dear life. “Thanks for the present, by the way,” he offered enthusiastically, as if thankful that semi-sensible words were finally spilling out of his mouth. “A scarf - erm, very handy for keeping me warm on my hiking trips down on the Diesel Decks.” _Stop nodding, you idiot!_ “I-it must have taken you a fair amount of time to knit one that long?”

_Six weeks, two days and four hours_ , Lister’s memory insisted fervently. 

“Nah, just a couple of evenings,” he cast off as flippantly as he could before slipping into the well-rehearsed lie. “I'd started it for the Cat initially, but he caught me knittin’ it and said that the colours didn't go well together, so I thought best not to waste it, y’know.” _Good. That had sounded good._

“What would that crazily-dressed moggy know about which colours looked smart together?” Rimmer snorted a little too loudly. “Navy blue and canary yellow are a striking combination.” He waggled a long thin finger as a thought came to him. “Funnily enough, it's the very same colours as Napoleon's Armée du Nord.”

“You don't say!” Lister managed through an expression of surprise as fake as a Chinese Rolex. It wasn't that he'd studied the man’s military campaign books at length for inspiration or anything…

He coughed to cover the grinding gears of the abrupt subject change, proffering open a hand towards the hologram. “Hey, but not as great a present as that Autumn ‘76 London Jets vid that you gave me.” Lister shook his head in amazement. “I didn't think there'd still be a copy of that in existence! That was a lucky find, eh man?”

Rimmer bristled but kept silent. Luck had smeg all to do with it. He’d painstakingly trawled through the entertainment systems of the seventy-odd different derelicts that they'd encountered over the last two years in a desperate search of a copy of the one vid the man was missing. 

“Well, it was hardly tricky to find, Lister,” he ground out. “One quick search of the vid database and you'd have known it was in the library already.”

Confusion pinched at Lister’s brow. “Huh, funny that,” he mused with a shake of the head. “I could’ve sworn I'd looked on the ‘Dwarf’s database twice already -- ”

Hazel eyes darted urgently across the Sleeping Quarters until they lit upon the display on the coffee table. “Wow! This looks great!” Rimmer cut in, sweeping across the room before hurriedly taking his place on the sofa. “Kryten’s put on a marvellous spread, as always.”

_Heeeere we go._ “Actually,” Lister trailed his hand gingerly across the back of the sofa as he crossed behind it before sinking cautiously down into the cushions next to him, “that was me.”

Rimmer whipped back to face him, blinking his surprise. “You?”

“Yeah.”

The hologram’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The only time I've ever seen you use the kitchen was to fetch the can opener to pick your ears clean with.” His gaze swept across the impressive array of treats laid out for the feasting. “How on Io did _you_ put this all together?”

“It's only puttin’ cakes on plates, Rimmer,” the Scouser snorted in affront. “It's hardly Delia Smith material.”

“You've never willingly used a plate in your life,” Rimmer shot back. The man would happily live out of foil takeaway boxes for the rest of his days. “What's this all in aid of?”

Lister sighed irritably, his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Well, unless you hadn't noticed, it is Christmas, y’know -- ”

“Ah,” Rimmer nodded, “so you thought you'd slip holo-laxatives in the mince pies.”

“Come on, man! I wouldn't do that!”

Rimmer glared at him wordlessly.

“Again,” Lister relented. Clocking the dangerous look that clouded the hologram’s face, hamster cheeks stretched out into a pained grin. “But hey, we laughed about it afterwards, right?”

Lister chuckled weakly as he leaned in towards his bunkmate to share the joke. Earning an unimpressed raise of an eyebrow in response, both his smile and friendly lean retreated guiltily. The strained laugh sank into a mortified groan that echoed inside his can as he quickly slung back the last dregs.

It was time for the big guns.

With his fifth Leopard Lager hurriedly tossed with a clatter in the vague direction of the rubbish bin, Lister quickly fished Plan B out of the ice bucket. “Champagne?” he offered winningly.

With a nauseous lurch of recollection, Rimmer’s stomach ran screaming for the hills. “I - uh.” He tugged at the neck of his tunic, suddenly feeling a little too hot. “I think I better pass on the champagne, thanks. I've found that - ” he paused in a tactful attempt to search for the right word, “ - _over-indulgence_ of it doesn't agree with me.”

An eyebrow raised at the inelegant dodge. That was interesting. “Why?” Lister asked pointedly. He leant towards him, intensifying his questioning as subtly as five lagers would allow. “What happens exactly when you drink too much champagne, Rimmer?”

As if he could sense the net closing in, Rimmer twiddled his fingers nervously. “Well. It makes me, erm -- ” _So pissed that I end up dreaming about snogging your brains out?_ “ -- a little tired.”

Despite his nervousness, Lister couldn't help but laugh at the man’s down-playing. _“A little tired?”_ he echoed with an incredulous snort. “That's the fanciest way of sayin’ ‘pass out drunk on the sofa’ that I’ve ever heard.” 

Rimmer’s feathers ruffled in annoyance. “Well it's hardly something you haven't done yourself a hundred times before, is it, Listy?” Trying to hide his embarrassment, he folded his arms with an audible huff before dropping his voice to a mumble. “I just fell asleep before you came down for your party, that's all.” 

Bingo. There it was. 

Trying not to let the victory visibly surface on his face, Lister steeled his features as he eyed the man suspiciously, seeking out any sign that he was lying. But no, it was obvious that Rimmer _genuinely_ believed that's what had happened. 

A wicked grin tickled the corner of Lister’s mouth. “You sure about that?” he prompted. 

“What?” 

“You’re absolutely certain that's all that happened?” Lister challenged with a cheeky cock of the head. “Cos I'd beg to differ, y’know.” 

Confusion creased the hologram’s brow. “What are you blathering on about, Lister? Of course that's all that happened!” 

“Rimmer,” the Scouser giggled, “I was sober and you were, puttin’ it mildly, completely smeggin’ trollied.” He sank back into the cushions, thoroughly relishing the moment. “There's not many areas where I'm more qualified than you, but believe me - ‘recollection of that evening’ is definitely one of them.” 

“Okay, Memory Man,” Rimmer huffed. “So what supposedly happened?” 

_This is it…_ Lister slowly tilted his head in recollection. “Well, we were sittin’ down together on the sofa like this.” 

The hologram shrugged. “So we sat together? So what?” 

“Then we started talkin’ - ” 

Despite the haughty dismissal, panic was beginning to creep in at the edges of the hologram’s voice. “So we had an entire conversation I can't remember? So what?” 

Lister needled him with a single look. “And then you -- ?” 

Wary hazel eyes flitted back and forth to search out the hidden meaning behind Lister’s expectant stare. His words had been fully loaded; an entire cylinder of bullets ready to fire at god knows what. 

Rimmer frowned, confused by the man’s rather evident baiting. He'd fallen asleep following a tad too much to drink a handful of times over the years, so that was hardly something new. After all, he was hardly a seasoned drinker, and Arnold J Rimmer was a pretty cheap date. 

No, this was something else. And judging by the barely-contained gerbil grin, this was something of epic, blackmail-worthy propor- 

Then suddenly, in a blink, Pandora’s Box was opened and OH HOLY SMEG. Rimmer watched in mounting horror as Lister’s eyebrows subtly raised at the realisation he could see slowly unfurling from the shadows. 

That kiss hadn't been some drunken dream. It was… He’d ACTUALLY… 

Lister’s brow pinched, mock-curious at Rimmer’s rising panic. He held back the smirk that now threatened to spread across his face like weeds in an abandoned allotment. “Anything the matter?” he prodded cheerfully before _finally_ allowing the smug grin to take hold. “Or is it allll now floodin’ back to you?” 

Rimmer buried his face in his hands, shutting the last human and the entirety of the universe out, which frankly was quite welcome right now. “Oh, _smegging hell --_ ” he whimpered. 

Triumphant, Lister fished out and cracked open his sixth lager of the day before leaning back to stretch out his boots on the coffee table. “I'll take that as a yes.” 

Utterly mortified, Rimmer curled into a ball in the corner of the sofa and groaned. Without glancing up for risk of surrendering eye contact, his hand fumbled unseeing for a cushion before tugging it over his head in a less-than-valiant attempt to avoid the conversation that was sure to follow.


	2. Part Two

One could be forgiven for thinking that it was indeed a ‘Silent Night’.

After all, the pair had fallen steadfastly quiet for some time now. The only sound that passed between them was the soft repetitive thuds as Rimmer smacked himself in the head repeatedly through the cushion barrier. 

Lister took a nonchalant sip of his lager, a fond smile floating to the surface as he licked the foam from his lips. “You can't stay under there forever, y’know.”

“Yes I can,” came the muffled reply.

“Look, it’s no big deal!” Lister chided with a laugh. “You kissed me when you were pissed, that’s all! You didn't navigate us into a black hole or anythin’.”

From under the cushion, Rimmer wordlessly debated which of the two would honestly have been worse.

“Besides,” Lister shrugged, “you’re hardly the first person to have done it.”

That particular dangled carrot enticed Rimmer from his burrow. “Really?” he probed hopefully, praying that he hadn't been the only drunken snog that this odorous sprout of a man could chalk down to experience. “Someone else has kissed you because they’d had too much to drink?”

Lister rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. “I meant people _generally_ , y’doink,” he explained before taking a long satisfying slug of lager. “Besides, I’m a man of honour, me.” He belched into his closed mouth before letting the air jet past his lips with a hiss. 

At Rimmer’s look of panicked disgust, he leant in surreptitiously, lowering his voice to a teasing whisper. “Just ‘cos someone has put a drunken offer on the table, it doesn't mean I'd take advantage, y’know.” He raised a meaningful eyebrow. 

There was a long, pained silence as the man’s words began to drip-feed into Rimmer’s long-term memory, bringing a sharp clarity to waters that were once too muddy for comprehension. He paled visibly. “What kind of offer?” he mumbled.

“ _Well -_ ”

“Oh god,” Rimmer groaned, already fearing the worst. He buried his face in his hands, the embarrassment radiating hot past splayed fingers. “I don't think I'm drunk enough for this.”

Tilting his head in allowance, Lister cracked open the champagne and clumsily poured out a glass, the bubbles rapidly spilling over the rim. Handing over the dripping offering, the hologram took it without question; glugging it back with little elegance before replacing the empty glass on the table. A hushed belch of his own escaped his lips as Rimmer nodded, eyes scrunched closed. “Okay, go -- ” he strained with a wince. 

Lister tried his utmost to be tactful. But Lust was rather enjoying his long-awaited payback and immediately drew forth every sordid detail it could recount.  


“You were being a tad _forward_ , if y’know what I mean? No flirtin’, just straight in for a round of tonsil hockey.” He grinned, nodding in mischievous indication down to his crotch. “The way I remember it, you seemed to be having a lotta trouble keeping your hands off me junk.”

The cushion was pressed into conscription once more as Rimmer let out a string of lost expletives into its depths. He didn't even need to see the gesture to know that Lister was pouring him another; the clink of glass on glass and the fizz of bubbles was enough.

“Thank you,” came the muffled gratitude.

Fumbling the champagne back into the ice bucket, Lister regarded him strangely. Yes, the man appeared to be suitably embarrassed, but he didn't seem to be firing forth the expected flurry of excuses; the traditional, unending string of blame or denial that he was usually capable of. He shifted, deep in thought, and took a sip of his lager.

“Well it hardly matters, man,” Lister eventually concluded. Granting himself a brief sideways glance at the be-cushioned hologram, he cast out his hook into the ripples of the unsettled silence that sat between them and waited. “You’d had too much to drink,” he dismissed. And with six simple words, the bait was ready. “You made a mistake, that's all.”

Riled, Rimmer flung back the cushion and glared at him, incredulous. And before he knew it, he’d fallen hook, line and sinker; his words fighting for escape before he'd had a chance to check them.

“Excuse me, mi’laddo!” he protested, hauling himself up clumsily to sit. “I’ll have you know, I’m not the sort of person to commit any old stupid drunken mistake!” He snorted in triumph, waggling an authoritative finger. “In fact, I think you’ll find, that night I'd been planning on telling you -- ” he suddenly froze in panic at what he was blurting out, unthinking.

Lister’s attention snapped back immediately, snaring him with an intense gaze that verged on predatory. “What did you say?”

 _Idiot!_ Eyes wide, Rimmer shook his head vehemently, unable to tear himself away. “Noth-nothing.”

Winding the line in tighter, Lister slowly reeled him in, heart thumping hard as the beginnings of a smile began to unfurl. He smegging well _knew_ there’d been more to this than met the eye. “You'd been planning on telling me _what?”_

The hologram dug in his heels as he was dragged towards the inevitable. “ -- that you're a goit?” he mumbled pathetically.

“Give over,” Lister dismissed, fully expecting the resistance. “You tell me that every day, sometimes twice before breakfast.” Clocking the simulated beads of sweat that now seemed to stand out cold on the hologram’s brow, he pinned him with a knowing look. “I can tell when you're lyin’, y’know. So let's just talk about this.”

“Or we could eat?” Rimmer’s nervous giggle verged on the manic as he gestured desperately to the table. Suddenly the threat of holo-laxatives seemed far less torturous.

“Don't try and wriggle outta this.”

“Mince pie?”

 _“Rimmer!"_ Winding in the final length, even Lister was surprised at how close together they'd been sitting. His heartbeat now sounded way too loud to be plausible, pulsing audibly in his ears. “What were you gonna tell me that night, man?”

Hazel eyes snagged momentarily on Lister’s lips, unknowingly wetting his own nervously, before darting back to the man’s gaze. His mouth hung open, uncertain.

Lister could almost see the words poised anxiously on the man’s tongue “I'm listening.”

 _Well, go on, you gimboid! Now's your chance!_ Rimmer stood on the very edge, toes dangling over the precipice into revelation. He chewed hard on his lip as the ground began to crumble from beneath him, slipping into the unknown. “See, the thing is -- ”

“My attention is totally on you, y’know!” 

Noticing how his satirical interruption had yanked the hologram back with startled suddenness, Lister smothered his smirk. Even in a rare moment of revelation between them, he was unable to help himself. Baiting Rimmer was an instinct that pulsed through his veins.

“O-kay,” the hologram drawled, clearly lost. He edged forward once more. “I was going to tell -- ”

“I'm totally ready to listen to whatever you -- ”

“Lister!” With his boots clinging onto familiar territory, a scowl settled comfortably on Rimmer’s features. “Is there a reason you're making this so smegging difficult?”

Lister swallowed back the chuckles that threatened to hijack his voice as he realised that Rimmer’s recollection clearly didn't stretch to _that_ part of their previous conversation. 

“Oh, _sorry_ man,” he laboured dramatically. “I didn't mean to interrupt you when you obviously had something important to say.” He rolled his eyes subtly, his frustration finding its voice through a coded insult. “I mean, what kind of inconsiderate smeghead would do that, eh?” 

Missing the dig entirely, Rimmer flashed him a reproachful eyebrow. “What I was _trying_ to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, was that - contrary to what I may often tell you,” he grimaced with a pain akin to dental surgery, as if his confession were literally like pulling teeth. “I don't actually hate you.”

Lister allowed his mouth to fall open into a feigned gasp. “Oh?”

“In fact, you know, the opposite. I -- ” With only one way to fall, Rimmer took an inelegant leap into the unknown. “I like you.” He coughed self-consciously, fumbling for a swift amendment like he was scrabbling for a parachute. “A bit!” Realising the futility, he sighed his relent before allowing himself to plummet. “A lot.”

Lister blinked quickly, completely bowled over at both the honesty and the revelation. The admission may have been stunted, clumsy and monosyllabic at best, but coming from Arnold J. Rimmer, it was the aural equivalent of poetry. 

Dark eyes softened as they took in Rimmer’s visible wince; the man clearly bracing himself for the worst. A shy smile tugged at Lister’s mouth before he too took the leap of faith. “I really like you too,” he confessed quietly. 

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? But it's how I've been - ” Rimmer blinked twice, suddenly registering Lister’s hushed admission. “Hang on. What did you say?!”

“I like you too, y’silly smegger,” Lister laughed, slipping a reassuring hand onto his. “I mean, I _tried_ telling you on my birthday - ” He pinned the man with a meaningful look. “ - but for some, strange reason I couldn't get a word in edgeways?”

Hazel eyes sank closed in despairing comprehension, the man’s earlier interruptions suddenly clicking into place. “I'm an idiot.”

Smiling, Lister patted the man’s hand before drawing it back. “Nobody’s arguing with that,” he chuckled into the can as he took a grateful swig of lager.

The hologram released a long, airless sigh that had been months in the making; as if he'd been holding his breath needlessly all this time.

There. He’d said it. It was over now.

Confusion gnawed at him. But why was his stomach continuing to perform acrobatics, as if the plummet wasn't quite over yet?

A part of him already instinctively knew the answer. Even as he tried to make out the distant fuzziness of the safety net below - fighting to establish where this was all heading - something in the vague vicinity of his lightbee had already realised why it had always been referred to as ‘ _falling_ in lov-’

Denial thrust its fingers in its ears and began to sing loudly and off-key.

Oh god, not that smegging word. Not yet anyway.

Rimmer peeled open his eyes to reveal another pair waiting for him patiently. His shoulders hunched up in embarrassment. “Do you think we could perhaps forget the previous disaster and try this again?” he probed sheepishly.

The Scouser’s face lit up like the Blackpool Illuminations. “Sounds good to me,” he nodded with an eager grin. 

Although he was up for a fresh start, Lister wasn't quite ready to archive their first kiss just yet. He remembered the charged ferocity and passion that Rimmer had been capable of when his inhibitions were lowered. If _that_ was a preview of what was to come, then he couldn't smegging wait.

“So what exactly do you do?” Rimmer ventured, features twisted into an awkward grimace. Relationships were baffling, unchartered territory. “Do I have to prepare anything? Perhaps I should make a list. I-I'll fetch my pen - ”

“ _Or -_ ” Lister cut him off with a smirk, “we could kick things off by following Christmas tradition, and - ?” From the depths of his jacket pocket, he plucked forth a pathetically crumpled yet chirpily hopeful sprig of mistletoe and held it aloft between them with a shrug.

“Oh, well,” Rimmer snorted flatly. “If the _plastic imitation plant_ reckons we should.”

“Oh, shut up, y’Scrooge.”

The all-too-familiar sniping finally put them both at ease, and the pair snickered at the reassurance it granted them both. With the mirth fading back to leave the stain of a smile in its wake, two sets of eyes flitted over one another in reassessment. Funny, that. It was like the entire universe had inverted - and yet stayed exactly the same.

This time, the silence between them felt potently expectant. Face inching towards him suggestively, Lister’s gaze sought permission. With a quick dart of the tongue to wet his lips, Rimmer not only granted it, but laid out the welcome mat and a tray of refreshments. After all, t’was the season, and all that.

Allowing his eyes to sink blissfully closed, the hologram kept perfectly still as Lister brushed his lips feather-light against his own, their spiced warmth dancing enticingly over his. Even at that smallest of touches, a flurry of fireworks seemed to spark off in his lightbee that now glowed hot and happy in his chest.

Of course, it hadn't been the first time they'd kissed. But unlike the lustful clash of tongues and teeth from their previous encounter, Lister felt his heart surge at the charged chasteness of this slow and simple lock of lips; the promise of so much more than a drunken fumble could ever have delivered.

Lister gently pulled back to see an unfamiliar look of contentment that he'd left plastered to Rimmer’s face. “Huh. You should smile more, man. It suits you.”

Snagging on the Scouser’s teasing grin, Rimmer’s smile soon sank back into a familiar scowl. “And you should shower more,” he retaliated. “But beggars can't be choosers.”

Mistletoe sinking into his lap, Lister rolled his eyes. Ever the charmer. “So what are you sayin’?” he needled. “That if wasn't for your rather limited pool of choice, you wouldn't have gone for me?”

Missing the warning signs completely, Rimmer’s nose wrinkled in utter confusion. “Of course I wouldn't,” he snorted. “Much in the same way I didn't choose to die at 31 or be stranded alone with _you_ in deep space for the rest of eternity.”

Lister tilted his head forward until he regarded the hologram from under the hood of an eyebrow. “There's a compliment in here somewhere, I’m guessin’?”

“But that said,” Rimmer added quickly with a grinding of gears, “although I didn't _choose_ for any of those things to happen - ” he allowed another rare smile to surface as he dragged over the blanket, “ - I'm rather glad they did.”

Smirking as Lister answered him with a playful punch to the arm, Rimmer gave the blanket a sharp flick that sent it billowing like a parachute before settling to envelop them both. After all, if he was destined to fall for the man, he might as well make it a comfortable plummet.

Plucking up their lager and champagne, the pair clinked their respective drinks to seal the deal. Ironic, really. How two creations so different in appearances and tastes could both achieve the same warm, fuzzy feeling in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to my lovely followers. Thank you so much for all your love and support this year. It's meant so much to me. <3


End file.
